The Portal 00 - Legacy of the Witch

I’ll show you what we’ve got to work
with.”
    “All right.”
    I walked in when he stepped aside and took a look around me.
The place was more breathtaking on the inside than on the outside. There was a
giant fireplace on one wall made of perfect rectangles of gleaming granite.
Leather furniture, lush and brown. Hardwood floors lined with oriental rugs. I
could see straight through to the dining room and the kitchen beyond it.
    “This place is…fantastic.”
    He nodded. “Thank you. You need anything before we get to work?
Bathroom? Coffee?”
    I lifted my brows. “Can I have both?”
    His lip quirked up at one corner, an almost smile that made my
heart turn over. So familiar. And dear. How?
    “Through there.” He pointed toward a hall leading off the back
of the living room, but I got stuck looking at his hand, the strength and
breadth of it. The long, slender fingers. Then I snapped out of it and followed
where that gorgeous hand was pointing. “Thanks. I’ll be quick, promise.”
    He nodded and closed the entry door behind me as I walked
through the house, looking all around as I did. It shouldn’t seem suspicious, I
thought. The place was breathtaking; who wouldn’t look it over?
    I’d seen no alarm panel near the door. But I saw no sign of my
grandmother’s treasure box, either. When I reached the far end of the living
room, I headed down the short hall and spotted the bathroom immediately.
    The lights came on automatically, revealing a spotless half
bath, with tan fixtures, a beige rug, nothing on the walls besides a medicine
cabinet over the sink, and light-colored wood trim, like pecan or something.
There were merlot towels on the rack and a bar of hand soap on the soap dish.
Irish Spring.
    Closing my eyes, I leaned back against the door. “What is it he
thinks I’m here to do?” I couldn’t even imagine. Maybe he’d hired a maid or a
nanny or a party planner or…oh, a house sitter! That would be marvelous, a house
sitter. Then he could just get out and leave me to search for the witches’
box.
    I took a few minutes, washing my hands with the green soap and
thinking about the guy in the commercial, standing in the hills of Ireland and
slicing off the edge of the bar with his pocketknife to show us that it had
those striations clear through, though why we should care, I couldn’t fathom.
The stuff smelled great, though. Drying my hands on the seat of my pants because
I didn’t want to mess up one of those gorgeous towels, I looked into the mirror
and realized I needed a touch-up.
    I shrugged my bag off my shoulder and fixed my makeup, then
tried to untangle my jet-black hair. It was dead straight and completely out of
style. I couldn’t make it “big” no matter what I did to it. Or curly,
either.
    I popped a breath mint for good measure and opened the bathroom
door, then peeked into the living room.
    He wasn’t there.
    I stepped out, looking around, walking through the room and
taking my time. There wasn’t a lot of clutter, and I saw only a few places where
the chest might be hidden. A closet near the front door, a pair of end tables
with doors on the front that must have storage space inside.
    I moved past the staircase, into the dining room, noting the
large hutch—two possible drawers there—and the china closet. That had a drawer,
too. Then into the kitchen where, of course, every cupboard was a
possibility.
    Stainless steel fixtures, white appliances and more of that
same light wood. The countertop looked like marble and matched the pattern of
the floor. White with black swirls. There was a note stuck to the fridge with a
magnet in the shape of an American flag, and I moved a little closer.
    6/21, 6:00 pm, help arrives.
    Today’s date. It was 7:30. Obviously he thought I was the help
he’d been expecting.
    Footsteps behind me made me jump guiltily and turn around.
    “Sorry if I scared you before. I’m antsy about this. Deadline’s
breathing down my neck, and it’s taken me three months to realize I don’t know
what the hell I’m doing. So…”
    “Don’t worry. Now that I’m here it will…be done in no time.” Just as soon as I figure out what it is, I thought.
    He moved past me to the counter, poured coffee into two mugs,
then moved aside with his in his hand. “Help yourself to cream and sugar.”
    I moved forward, standing awfully close to him, but he didn’t
move away. I added cream and sugar to my mug and inhaled as I stirred. “It’s
good,” I